


Gravity

by tjstar



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: # tyler climbing and getting in trouble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Platonic Relationships, Protectiveness, Summerfest 2013, Van Days, Vessel Era, falling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-01 20:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: He’s losing himself on stage yet urging people to do the same in the pit; he’s yelling, he’s an adrenaline-addict, and the only thing he can recognize is the beat they’ve created on their own.Tyler just forgets thatthe ruleshave ever existed.





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pantaloonwarrior](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantaloonwarrior/gifts).



This is against the rules, he knows. This is against the rules, and he’s been told it so many times already — _do not climb anymore._ His parents would have made a huge cardboard sign just to hold it up in the VIP section, but they’re not here today, they’re not attending the fests as often as Tyler would have wanted. Maybe it’s good.

He’s losing himself on stage yet urging people to do the same in the pit; he’s yelling, he’s an adrenaline-addict, and the only thing he can recognize is the beat they’ve created on their own.

Tyler just forgets that _the_ _rules_ have ever existed.

He’s still squeezing the microphone in his palm, he’s jumping over his piano to make it to the stage scaffolding — he just wants to be listened to, he needs people to try to think. This thing crosses his mind as he runs, he is fast and the coolness of the metal bars against his fingers is almost calming. He likes to feel weightless, leaving his problems below and getting the crap beaten out of them. By Josh’s courtesy, of course.

Tyler climbs up, and up, and the playback resonates throughout his eardrums; he begins to gather the air in his lungs to _scream_ one more time as he reaches the top. This helps him clear his head sometimes. Sometimes, it doesn’t. And sometimes, there are the rules.

So when something yanks at Tyler’s foot, he panics, he thinks this is the fault of his untied shoelace and looks down —

This is not his shoelace. This is a hand grabbing at his ankle, then another one, and then there’s a whole masculine-brutal-strong stage worker chasing Tyler up the scaffolding; he shouldn’t have touched band members, Tyler is sure. But the man’s arm is wrapped around Tyler’s waist, there’s the smell of his and Tyler’s own sweat, and Tyler panics even more. Just for a second though, but it’s enough for his fingers to unclench and let the mic fall down with a dull sound. Tyler can imagine this even though he doesn’t hear anything except the pounding of his heart.

But the audience bursts with a _no_ and _leave him alone_ anyway.

The man keeps snorting as he drags Tyler down, Tyler doesn’t struggle, but this idiot can really make both of them crash down, so Tyler mostly tries to get there alive. Well, it seems it’s impossible with the security guard sticking to his spine like a human-sized koala. When they’re relatively close to the ground, the man continues _doing his job,_ but he’s apparently thinking that Tyler is going to climb back up if he turns away. Tyler sort of wonders what kind of _reputation_ he’s getting.

“Careful,” Tyler huffs.

The man doesn’t react to this word, just pushing Tyler down. His ankle is throbbing with pain — it hurts more than he thought it would — and Tyler didn’t expect to be pulled down like this, without a warning and with too much force. And he also doesn’t expect his injured leg to actually give up underneath him. He falls, he lets out a short gasp; Josh keeps drumming, and Tyler can only pray for the audience to be preoccupied with watching his shirtless friend, not the pursue. This awkward landing has violated his pride, and he can barely get his footing back, but at least he’s fallen right next to the mic. Tyler picks it up; it’s not working for a few more seconds until Tyler detects and fixes the problem on his own. He’s sweating even more, he rips his white balaclava off and throws a death glare at that rude stage worker.

He hates technical pauses.

“And now I just sit in silence,” it’s hard to act as if you haven’t just gotten your ass pulled down from height. But Tyler is stubborn, he keeps his feelings locked inside until he can’t anymore. “And now I just sit in silence, and now I just sit!” his voice doesn’t sound loud enough although his vocal cords say otherwise.

Choking and coughing his innards up right now would be just great. His throat is gonna be sore tomorrow, but it doesn’t bother him at the moment. He doesn’t even care about the cameraman as he opens his mouth widely as if he wants to swallow the lense; they’re transmitting this image to a big screen along with Tyler’s rage. He should be screaming at the other guy, honestly. He knows he sounds like a disappointed kid when he’s throwing a tantrum, he’s read enough tweets to stop rolling his eyes.

But now he’s pissed for real. He’s feeling dumb for real.

He tosses his balaclava as far as he can, almost aiming for the one who has bruised him; Tyler hasn’t checked it yet, but there’s no need with his intuition. The cause of his troubles is trying to hide backstage, probably he wasn’t prepared for a dude in a Mickey Mouse t-shirt delivering such serious stuff from the stage. Tyler can identify his type — he might be one of the haters thriving on leaving the comments like _this band sucks because it sucks._ But Tyler is not the one to count other people’s brain cells. He just wants it to be over already.

Josh is safe in his tent, this is an open show, and they don’t need him to get a heatstroke.

Tyler goes back to the piano to finish the song, hitting the keys nervously; he can’t catch his breath as another lump of anger tears his chest apart, his ankle feels way too thick with the sock compressing it. He stands up, he sways a little, and Josh wipes his face on the towel a few feet away; Tyler can almost read his aura, soaked with concern.

Tyler tries to beckon the guard back to the stage, but it brings no results.

“We got a guy, who, who — I’m just trying to put up a show, and he just grabs me as I’m climbing up this thing,” the crowd boos as he speaks. “That’s how you could hurt somebody. I’m up there, just tell me not to do this, you don’t need to grab my foot,” Tyler cuts himself off not to say that he’s _indeed_ gotten hurt today. “Can you come here and explain to them what happened, please? Come here, sir,” he adds mockingly. “Come on! Come here!”

The man grins, standing next to the side banner, and Tyler feels even more helpless.

“He can’t,” Tyler shrugs. “I’m having a good time still, are you guys having a good time?”

He wishes he could be a better pretender.

He wishes he couldn’t see the man flipping him off.

He’s closer this time, his whole I’m-a-boss-here look is rather offensive. Tyler can only walk with a limp, with each step fighting the urge to roll up his pant leg and rub the swell to relieve the pain. This is not the first time he’s had an encounter with someone during the show, but this is the first time when he’s actually lost by all means.

So when there’s a flash darting across the stage, his brain can’t quite proceed what’s going on. If Tyler’s call-out cry didn’t work, then the man’s middle finger has driven _Josh_ to the edge; Josh isn’t usually looking like a riled-up muscle-full thug, but now he’s just seeming to be like this, going to Tyler’s insulter and pushing him in the shoulders. He jostles Josh back, and Tyler wants to interrupt them already; they’re mostly hidden by the scaffolding and the banner, but some of the fans begin to understand the situation.

And then it takes a weird turn.

Josh’s fist connects with the dude’s eye, Tyler bites up his knuckles not to start spitting curses right there and then. He is about to distract the audience with a wild story from his past life, but he’s also about to rush and help Josh out — but Michael is here already, talking to the other guard crossly and making Josh step aside. Josh points his finger at the man, then at Tyler and then he waves his arms since Michael was mostly watching the barricade instead of the stage when Tyler fell.

Tyler isn’t mad at him.

And that’s when they get informed that their set is getting cut short. So predictable.

Tyler doesn’t miss the opportunity to perform a quite tragic mic drop, this one is never gonna work right anyway. The techs flood the stage, and Tyler disconnects _their_ wires from _their_ equipment; Josh does the same, avoiding Tyler’s glance. Maybe they would have had a chance to finish their set if they hadn’t broken the rules.

Tyler hopes that he hasn’t broken his ankle.

 

***

“Are you okay?”

He shudders when he hears Michael’s voice.

“Sure,” Tyler turns only to see his piano being hauled off the stage. Josh’s drumset is just falling apart in the tech’s hands. He sighs. “Who does he think he is? Like, a freaking king who doesn’t have to take responsibility? I hate that,” Tyler jerks his shoulder when Michael places his hand on it. “I’m gonna go and find him right now and sort things out. He’s screwed up our show —”

Michael remains calm.

“Tyler. You know you shouldn’t have climbed there.”

Tyler rubs his chin.

“Let’s just pack our stuff and leave like good guys,” Michael adds.

With the storm swirling in his veins Tyler agrees, he doesn’t have any other options. He can’t participate in a fight when he can barely move his feet; he stumbles backstage, he grabs his bag still feeling like a betrayer. The pain gets more acute as the minutes pass by, Tyler winces as it shoots up and down his leg; when he comes back to his senses after the shock he realizes he’s grasping at Josh’s forearm, stopping him.

“Need my help, dude?”

“What? No, no. I’m fine,” Tyler bends his knee and wiggles his toe. “We now have enough time to overcome the distance.”

Josh chuckles.

“Indeed.”

It’s getting darker bit by bit, their crew members are fussing around to get their personal stuff into the van; Tyler’s t-shirt sticks to his sweaty skin, his head is on fire, and his body feels way too heavy. So when Josh urges him to take his backpack off, Tyler doesn’t refuse.

But Tyler _does_ refuse, when Josh offers him a piggyback ride.

“They’re not hunting us, come on,” Josh pulls at Tyler’s wrist. “Gonna get you there safe and sound.”

Tyler doesn’t see the point in covering up his injury anymore.

“I twisted my ankle because of that crud.”

“Yeah,” is all Josh says.

Tyler takes his backpack, throwing it over his shoulder and adding some weight to his own as he grips at Josh’s shoulders, and Josh slings his hands underneath Tyler’s bent knees. Tyler’s chest is pressed to Josh’s back, it still feels weird; sometimes Josh is like a content creator for the _Joshler_ hashtag on all the social media websites.

Embarrassment increases Tyler’s suffering.

“Five stars, Uber,” he mumbles.

It feels like eternity until they make it to the van and Tyler crawls into the backseat, just wanting to spend here a day or two and sleep. Josh is right next to him, moving Tyler’s legs carefully and asking him if he’s okay. Tyler is just dreaming of driving back to the hotel, pack the rest of his stuff and leave Milwaukee already.

Michael starts the engine.

“Are you sure you don’t need like, medical help?”

“Yes.”

Tyler sits up and pulls his Vans off along with his socks. He can still see that man’s fingerprints, forming a painful red and blue mess on his skin; this injury probably requires bandaging and ice, but they don’t have any —

“Take it,” Michael hands him an ice pack. “Got this from the stage paramedics, I knew that you were gonna have to need something like this.”

Tyler applies it to a sore area immediately.

“Thanks.”

He needs one more pack for his dignity as well.

Josh helps him hold it pressed tightly to the bruise when Tyler closes his eyes and leans against the window, almost relaxed. But he knows he’s mostly just drained.

 

***

He doesn’t remember drifting off but he wakes up to bad news.

At first he doesn’t understand why Mark uses the phrases _they cancelled the show_ and _Tyler’s gonna be pissed_ in the same sentence. When he understands, though, he jumps up so hastily he hits his head on the van’s roof. The ice pack falls off his ankle, baring his nerve endings, but this is secondary.

“They… They did what?” Tyler rips the phone out of Mark’s palm just to read the email over and over again. “Why. No, _shit,”_ he hugs himself and rocks back and forth with Josh rubbing his back softly. “Why, Josh?!”  

His voice cracks almost painfully. He doesn’t care.

They were supposed to perform at the concert hall next week, but now it’s not gonna happen; the email from their sponsors contains apologies mixed with _we don’t want to be known by hosting a show for Twenty One Pilots._ This is what Tyler reads between the lines, at least.

His interior world turns upside down. His mouth goes dry and his stomach lurches, riding another wave of anxiety. Tyler buries his face in his palms and groans from both pain and his own usefulness; he’s always managing to ruin everything when they’re just starting to get bigger, and he’s a failure, venter —

“It was my fault,” Josh says, still massaging Tyler’s shoulder blades. “I shouldn’t have punched him.”

When he shows Tyler a video, he feels even worse.

It’s a short, low-quality clip titled _“21p drUMMER goes rAMPAGE”_ uploaded on YouTube two hours ago, and there’s Josh leaving his drums to make a sicker beat using that stage worker. Tyler can’t stop biting his nails as he’s watching it.

“Gonna kick me out of the band for real?”

Tyler knows Josh isn’t joking.

Tyler wonders how many shows they’re gonna lose. Josh’s words kick him in the balls anyway.

“You wish,” Tyler finds some energy to muster a smirk. “You are my personal bodyguard from now on.”

He doesn’t feel like having a casual conversation, but he hasn’t even considered blaming _Josh_ on what happened. He’s been mostly thinking of his parents’ reaction, of their judging glances and that _we didn’t raise you like this._

“I’m so ashamed, man. Now we have to climb back up from the bottom,” Josh says thoughtfully. “But it’s like… I know that I was supposed to keep playing no matter what, but seeing you getting treated like this was just too much. You got up successfully, I’m happy about that, but he didn’t stop, did he? You were in pain, and he kept scoffing. I wanted to focus on drumming, I swear, I don’t even remember how I got there. It just. Clicked,” Josh trails off. “I’m sorry.”

He touches his temple to show where that thing clicked.

Tyler gets it.

“You’ve just done a thing I’ve never had enough courage for,” Tyler chews on his lip. “I held my anger back, and you just came and proved that dude wrong. Really, thank you. This is what best friends do.”

Tyler thinks back of those times when he thought that Josh was intimidating, a tough-looking punk, but it turned out that it was only his mask, a disguise. Tyler hopes that they’re not gonna get sued; he pats Josh’s shoulder, he doesn’t want him to resort to self-punishment at any sorts. Josh doesn’t look like he believes Tyler at all.

“But what about our career?”

Tyler puts the ice pack back onto his ankle.

“Since we don’t have a plan B, we should improve our plan A.”

He’s sure that only Mark gets it, giving him a thumb up.

 

***

Mark is actually a wizard, and Tyler wants to polish all of his lenses to express his gratitude. The post he links to the band’s Twitter account is a masterpiece, wise and witty, and Tyler nearly sobs when he reads through it at least ten times and when he watches the attached footage, explaining their point of view and literally saving their lives.

There are still two types of comments, fans fight haters, and _Tyler is a hysterical kid, what would you expect? Josh is a true friend._ Haters are still sure that _this band sucks because it sucks._

Tyler likes some of these tweets, getting even more positive feedback. Despite the cancelled show, their names are still popping up in the music-related news, not criminal chronicles. _Vessel_ strikes up the charts, media and magazines begin to discuss if Josh is really such a badass drummer. Josh says he’s still feeling guilty about the whole incident, and that he’s not proud of it at all; he doesn’t know how to deal with it if he gets asked about this on the interview. Tyler just promises to come to rescue and improvise. They have a month of a break to actually plan something up.

“Now you have enough time for your ankle to heal,” Mark says, scrolling through the feed. “And then we’re actually about to pick more tour dates. Easy.”

Tyler can’t help but screenshot the article with the title _“Summerfest stage worker gets fired after crossing paths with Twenty One Pilots lead singer”._

This is his new favorite one.

**Author's Note:**

> imagine being a stage worker at tøp show without knowing their specifics. it’s like. a sad kid screaming songs about mental illness and suicidal themes and then actually climbing up things as if he wants to end it all already… idek man idek  
> \---  
> based on [this vid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tp7CB_wvThE)


End file.
